


Comfort

by thedevilchicken



Category: Flood (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9624386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Life after the storm surge has a lot to do with blame.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doranwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doranwen/gifts).



They're an odd pair. 

It's not the age difference that does it, though there's an obvious difference between them that Patricia is sure some people remark on, if mostly not to their face (though, from time to time, it is - she remembers a concierge in Rome and a waiter near Chatsworth and how she told them, politely but firmly, that it was none of their business). It's not their different jobs or the fact that if not for the storm, they would most likely never have met. So many people were thrown together that day, though perhaps not quite so many as were torn apart. 

They're odd together mostly because Leonard is the only one who was involved in everything that happened who shares literally none of the blame - because he's also the only one who saw it coming - even if he's never said _I told you so_ , surprisingly, not even once. Patricia has said it for him, loudly and more than once and to many, many people at all levels of government. And Patricia herself, well, she's still learning to forgive herself for her part in it. Even now, three years on. 

A lot can happen in three years. The barrier is still there on the river at Woolwich, repaired now, just as shining and oddly futuristic as it ever was, and Sam Morrison's still there with it. She now oversees the barrier's second site, too, the one that should have always been there if the right people had just listened to Leonard. It's closer to the river mouth where it might, just might, have helped to prevent a tragedy. The tragedy was, however, far from prevented.

A lot can happen in three years. Patricia kept her job after the storm surge receded though she felt at the time she should perhaps have resigned; still, who else was there that understood the situation quite like she did? Penny had told her that her daughters were safe but they never did come back and honestly, though she blamed her at the time, she can't blame her now. She'd gone on that day because she'd had hope. Who knows how many more people would have died if she'd not had that.

It wasn't until later that she broke down and the only one who saw was Leonard. She remembers him sitting with her, handing her a handkerchief that was still a little wet from the storm outside but better than nothing even so. She remembers wiping her eyes and apologising to him and him saying, with genuine surprise, _nonsense, Commissioner, you don't need to apologise to me_. She remembers smiling just for a second before she broke down again and he wrapped one arm around her shoulders. She let him. He'd lost his son, after all, and the fact that Rob had chosen to die for the greater good really made no difference to the pain of it; he understood if anyone did. 

A lot can happen in three years. There are still traces around the city, markers on buildings that show the height the water reached there and areas outside the city centre that have never quite got all the way back up onto their feet again, projects still running to help the people that the storm affected worst, though _worst_ seems an arbitrary condition. There were hundreds dead in the aftermath but not the thousands that there could have been; she thinks she'll never quite be able to thank Leonard sufficiently for that, and if she tried then she knows he'd tell her she did just as much that day as he did. He believes that. She still finds it a difficult concept.

They eat dinner together after work, at his place or at hers though these days the distinctions between the two are ever more blurred. There are three pairs of high heels and her favourite trainers sitting on the shoe rack by his front door under the peg her coat hangs from and there's one of his suits and three shirts hanging in her wardrobe with a tie all balled up and hanging out of the top pocket that she'd like to fold up properly but she'd just find it that way again the next time. Wherever they are, he's the one who cooks, and they talk over dinner and a glass of wine. They have a lot in common, books and films and theatre, long walks in national parks where he teases her for striding off without him because she forgets sometimes it's as much about the scenery for him as it is the walk itself and sometimes, she can slow herself down enough to enjoy being away from her desk as much as he does. They have more than just the storm. 

After dinner, they sit together on the sofa and they watch the news and maybe she works or he works or they both work, laptops on laps, papers spread out all over the coffee table, his place or hers. Sometimes she closes her computer and she rests her head just lightly on his shoulder and he seems happy to let her do that, just like he did that first time, that day. Sometimes he holds her hand as a film comes on and it's comfortable, it's comfort _ing_.

His son died at the barrier and she knows he blames himself for that in spite of everything. Her daughters died in the streets and she blames herself, too, though he still tells her not to. 

She blames herself and he blames himself and perhaps they both always will. But they don't blame each other and somehow, that's all the comfort they both need.


End file.
